Monday, Feb. 16, 2009
This morning I woke up to roosters crowing outside my window, not to mention birds I'd never heard before (though I couldn't see them). I took a shower in the lush shower room and went to the restaurant where a cook would make anything you asked for from his spread. It was, as I've said, a mini-Eden we were in.
Today would prove to be one of the most enjoyable days, though I always have to be wary with that, because I am so prone to hanging on to that feeling of happiness. We boarded the bus and for the next 2 hours we heard the bus brakes squeaking as the driver wound carefully around tight mountain roads that were never designed for tourist buses. It was always a bit unnerving to look out the window and see steep drops off the cliffs.
As with many of the bus rides, our guides used the time to teach us about where we were going. Today we learned about land ownership in Mexico. In Mexico, there is something called an "ejido" (pronounced ee-HEE-do), which was a division of land given to groups of families prior to 1930. Fifty to a hundred families were given a piece of an ejido, and sometimes a family would sell their section of it. Each family had to choose which member of the family would farm the ejido. The who who farms their 5+ acres is called an "Ejitotario".
The reason this was significant to our day's trip was that El Rosario, the most famous of the butterfly sanctuaries, is owned as an ejido. Even though El Rosario is protected by a modern logging ban to conserve the sanctuaries, Ejitotarios often want to reserve their more ancient right to cut the trees, even if the land is presently protected by the ban. It is a battle that goes on every year, with police guarding the areas with guns, only to be bribed by ejitatarios with money. As we walked up the many stairs to the sanctuaries, we could see the heartbreaking evidence of clear cutting and trees that were now stumps.
The day became quite expansive as we entered the sanctuaries. The climb at over 9000 feet above sea level was, as I've said, daunting, and I paused quite often. Erik explained that everyone would feel this way, no matter what shape you were in since it takes over 2 weeks for your body to produce enough red blood cells at this elevation. So that made us feel a bit better with all our huffing and puffing.
I have written already about the "moment" when I stood looking out over a clear cutted area which was dotted with the first monarchs, and I worried if I would "feel" anything. Despite this worry, my heart was feeling full of gratitude, and I had the strong reply in my mind, that "it wasn't about me". I felt that this was all so beautiful and miraculous that my presence was not even needed. The miracle of the monarch and its migration and seemingly impossible survival went on in the world without me even being there. As I've sat with different memories over the weeks, this one remains as one of the sharpest.
As I continued on the trek up, walking with some of the others, we were always passed by people on their way down who were smiling and telling us the trek was worth it. And then we arrived, and saw the rust colored branches, heavy with monarch clusters. It was different than I had imagined it, which was probably due to the tourist aspect. The area where the clusters were was roped off so we were "looking in". (The colony the next day would prove to be quite different, with us being right in the midst of everything.)
There was a hushed tone to everyone in the sanctuary, as people naturally felt the spiritual nature of the place. The monarchs flying in the warming sun sounded like a wind around us, though no wind was stirring. I saw 4 Mexican men carrying a stretcher with a woman tied on to it, another moment I shared in my e-mails. They were very careful and quietly respectful of her as they untied her and gently helped her sit in a spot to witness the butterflies. I was very moved to see her. I could only imagine the lot she'd had to bear in life, and the planning and dedication and perhaps miracles that even got her here. She was definitely not defined by her illness and she was a great witness to me. I asked Marcos to ask her in Spanish if she would mind if I took her picture. "Tell her that I am touched by her courage to come here." Marcos quietly relayed my message and she beamed a smile at me that meant yes. Seeing her was in a way exactly parallel to seeing the miracle of the monarchs' survival and beauty.
People wandered around and spoke quietly and just witnessed the monarchs for about an hour, and then the time dictated that we start to head down. I was actually "on assignment" to buy some souvenirs to bring to the workshop this summer in Wpg., so I began to hurry down, but before I knew it, I got thoroughly lost in the woods. Don't ask me how that happened. I knew that the path was to my left where in the distance I heard voices, so I kept stumbling through the woods, without a path, and after about 10 minutes found my way back. I never felt worried.
The trek through the souvenir stands was a bit panicky for me, since time was running out and I had "money to spend". I didn't like that feeling (since I generally don't like shopping) but I was doing it for a larger cause so I stuck to my task. It turned out that as the days went by, I started to enjoy buying souvenirs more and more.
I met up with Erik M. and some others in a tiny outdoor eatery and we all ordered a few quesadillas which the ladies made on an open fire. They were so great and we enjoyed our impromptu meal together. I shared with Erik my witnessing moment from earlier, and he said he appreciated hearing the story and shared one of his own with a similar theme which he had had a year earlier. It was a good conversation.
There were other good conversations with people that day which I've since forgotten. My journal which were getting shorter every day, just says "good conversations, and good connections with people".
That evening after supper I began to blog for the students at school, and greatly enjoyed that. Writing from the perspective of the mascot was a very fun way to relate to the kids, one that I knew they'd enjoy at school with the help of the computer teacher. (When I got some replies the next day, it was even more fun.) I also wrote a few e-mails about the day to Watershed and to my sister Lorie. There were about 3 of us around the computers in the Internet room and we were enjoying writing to various people. One woman said, "I don't usually tear up when I write," and it captured how we all felt. My heart felt very full this day and I went to bed way too late. The "high" experience would come down soon enough the next morning when I would wake up sick. However, the thought was often with me of being a pilgrim not a vacationer, which always brought with it the reminder that, no matter the inner weather, it was "not about me". The day had brought with it a witness to the expansive reality of God's miracles.
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